


Find Your Hart (Take it Back)

by forpuckssake



Series: Heart to Hart [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: A lot of sass, Gen, Minor Character Death, also as usual pekka rinne is amazing, also somehow braden holtby became as Done with the flyers as he is with his own team, carter is just doing his best okay, i made jake guentzel a bit of an asshole in this and i am sorry, more hints of tk and patty but nothing concrete because ya girl has p l a n s, more plot!, poor tired canadien, some violence but with spies can you really be that surprised?, spy AU, to be fair tk is also kind of an asshole which is why guentzel is a bit of one in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-01-06 03:19:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18379886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forpuckssake/pseuds/forpuckssake
Summary: It took a moment for him to take stock of his situation. Waking to darkness was weird, but not completely out of the scope of the impossible. Maybe the streetlight had burned out, or maybe the moon had disappeared behind clouds. Maybe the world was ending.The moment passed, and Carter realized that the world actually ending might have been better than his reality.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> YIKES this is long and i'm not even done because there's a part 2 to this monster
> 
> buckle up y'all this one is a long one
> 
> and as usual i'm shit at editing my own work so if there are mistakes please feel free to let me know and i will fix them :)
> 
> this one is a direct sequel to Hartsick, so you might want to read that first. or skip it, i can't tell you what to do, but it might help to have read that first
> 
> also once i finally get this one out of the way, i've got some brioux and disaster bois in store for y'all!

It was dark when he finally woke up, which was a tad unusual for Carter. Claude’s guest bedroom was dim at best in the early morning with the curtains drawn, but it was never pitch black. Even at night, a street light nearby sent slivers of light streaming across the carpet, a soft golden glow within the darkness.

He couldn’t deny that it was darker than usual, but that also might have been the blindfold.

It took a moment for him to take stock of his situation. Waking to darkness was weird, but not completely out of the scope of the impossible. Maybe the streetlight had burned out, or maybe the moon had disappeared behind clouds. Maybe the world was ending.

The moment passed, and Carter realized that the world actually ending might have been better than his reality.

He knew he was blindfolded almost immediately, since blinking made his eyelashes brush against something right on his face. He wasn’t one to bury his face in his pillow unless he was sick, and even then he could turn his head and not have it shoved into his pillow. Turning his head did nothing to let him see, and if anything, it made everything worse.

Carter groaned to show his displeasure, his head throbbing with pain in time with the beating of his heart. He regretted moving, and he regretted making noise even more as it sent a fresh wave of pain crashing through his temples.

“He’s awake!” someone said loudly, and Carter groaned again. He wanted to tell them to shut up, but there was something over his mouth that wouldn’t allow the words to come out.

Huh. He had tape over his mouth. That was concerning.

The blindfold was removed from his eyes, but being able to see the light was no better. It pierced his retinas like a blade, sending a sharp, stabbing pain through his temples. He squeezed his eyes shut against the harsh light, his head lolling forward and his chin resting on his chest.

With his eyes still closed, Carter did his best to take in his immediate person as the rest of his senses came back to him. He was upright, which he could tell for certain. He wiggled his fingers and found that they tingled, like they didn’t have quite enough circulation, and so he assumed they were tied. Likely behind his back, too.

He was sitting on something with a back and his legs were spread out before him, so he was in a chair. It was better than a cold, concrete floor, at least.

“I think you hit him a little too hard earlier,” came a wry, accented voice. Carter was too discombobulated to determine what kind of accent it was.

“Whoops,” the first voice said unapologetically.

A hand grabbed at his hair and pulled his head up, not gentle but also not harsh, and he squinted his eyes open as far as he dared. He found himself staring right into the face of Evgeni Malkin, and if that wasn’t a reality worse than an actual nightmare, he didn’t know what was.

“Hello, baby Quartermaster,” Malkin said cheerily. “I’d ask how your day is, but I already know answer.”

Behind Malkin stood Jake Guentzel, who snickered like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

Carter didn’t dare roll his eyes. He knew that doing so would only cause him further misery and pain.

Malkin released his hair and Carter’s chin dropped instantly to his chest, his entire body sagging as he stifled a groan and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Should get Sid and Sully,” Malkin said, and then there was the sound of a heavy door opening and closing. Carter didn’t need to look up to know that it was likely Guentzel who had left the room.

The room was quiet save for the sound of Carter’s heavy breathing. His head hurt, which was overriding the panic he would likely be feeling at any other time when confronted with a similar situation.

“Sorry to do this,” Malkin said softly.

Carter snorted, forcing his eyes open and his head up. He glared as hard as he could, but he figured he probably looked pretty pathetic tied to a chair and clearly at least a little concussed.

Malkin did not look at all guilty as he simply shrugged in response to the harsh narrowing of Carter’s eyes. “Take or leave. I say sorry, am sorry.”

 _Sure_ , Carter thought angrily, taking an opportunity to look around at his surroundings.

There wasn’t much to see. It was a plain room with brick walls and a concrete floor. There was a light fixture overhead, so the corners of the room were dim but not completely dark. As far as Carter could see, the only piece of furniture in the room was the chair on which he sat.

That was a relief, at the very least. There weren’t any tables or rolling trays with torture instruments on them, so Carter had to count that as a win.

There was a grey door which looked like steel, and it opened as he stared at it to reveal Guentzel and two other people.

Now, Carter had never met Sidney Crosby in person. In fact, he had never so much as heard the man speak. He would have preferred to keep it that way.

There weren’t many people on Earth that Danny Briere despised, but Crosby was one of them. Carter liked to think that Danny was the smartest of the people he worked with, and if Danny had a reason to hate Sidney Crosby, then it must have been a good one.

The other person beside Crosby was none other than Director Sullivan. He looked just as intimidating in person as he did in his photos.

“You sure are a long way from home,” Director Sullivan said, face blank. “If we ask you some questions, do you intend to cooperate and answer them?”

Carter quirked an eyebrow in response, like _as if_.

Malkin snorted. “Spend too much time with Giroux,” he mumbled to Crosby, who looked just as unimpressed as Carter felt.

Sullivan ignored the members of his team, still focused on Carter. He reached toward the young Quartermaster, who flinched back on reflex, and grabbed at the tape over his mouth. He peeled it carefully away—at least he wasn’t ripping it off like a band aid.

Carter didn’t know whether to be disturbed or grateful for the gentle way in which they seemed to be treating him. He briefly wondered if they had already contacted the Flyers to demand some kind of ransom in exchange for his safety.

“It’s probably best you answer us anyway,” Sullivan said.

Carter licked his chapped lips. “It’s probably not,” he quipped in response. His voice came out a lot raspier than he remembered it being, and he had to wonder how long he had been unconscious.

Crosby rolled his eyes—he seemed to do that a lot—and let out a deep, exasperated sigh. “Why is it that all Flyers have the need to try and be smart?”

“At least one ops team in Pennsylvania has to be,” Carter replied.

Crosby opened his mouth to say something—probably something scathing, too, if the irritated look in his eyes was anything to go by. Sullivan quickly interrupted him, though.

“So you wouldn’t care to tell us why the Preds would put a price on your head?”

Carter blinked, which hurt quite a bit. “It’s kind of new to me,” he admitted cautiously. “Why? Is this you trying to collect?”

“We haven’t decided yet. Let’s just say they’re not the only ones with a price on your head.”

And that—that was a lot to take in.

“That’s news to me,” Carter said after a long pause.

Sullivan shrugged. “You’re asking too many questions, Mr. Hart, and people are starting to notice.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Sullivan said, shrugging again. “However, we have some questions for _you_. It’s in your best interest that you answer.”

“Also in your friend’s best interest that you answer,” Crosby added. “We’ve had to stop Jake from shooting him in the face just to get him to shut up at least twice already.”

There were only two people Carter knew that would talk and talk to the point of pissing people off, and he was fairly certain his Captain had been nowhere near the situation when Carter and his friends had been ambushed. That left only one other person that they could be referring to.

“He’s an idiot,” Guentzel seethed. “Who the fuck uses _nerd_ as an insult these days?”

Only Travis, Carter guessed.

“I hate to say this, but I don’t exactly trust you not to lie,” Carter said anyway. After all, Travis had been spitting insults at the Penguins since the beginning of time itself. They could say anything even remotely immature or insulting, and Travis had probably said it about them.

“Maybe I cut out tongue as proof,” Malkin suggested lightly.

“Yeah, that would certainly shut him up,” Guentzel mused.

“Not yet, boys,” Sullivan chided. “Geno, why don’t you go get our other guest to show Mr. Hart here that we are serious?”

Malkin nodded, and quickly slipped from the room. He didn’t open the door enough for Carter to see into the hallway beyond his tiny prison.

Carter heard Travis before he saw him, his heart sinking into his stomach at the sounds of cursing and yelling.

“I swear to _god_ I will destroy you with just my feet you—”

The door swung open, and under any other circumstance, it would be a funny scene.

Travis writhed in Malkin’s grasp, his feet perched on the doorway to the room as he struggled to push back against his captor and free himself. His hands were behind his back, likely held there with zip ties like Carter’s were, and Makin had one arm curled around Travis’s arm while the other was fisted in the shoulder of his grimy shirt. Travis was missing the sling he had been sporting just days before, and there was a fresh bruise across his cheekbone, but other than that he seemed to be unharmed.

Through the wash of relief at seeing his friend alive and dread at him having been captured as well, Carter vaguely heard Travis say something about Malkin being “staler than an old ham sandwich.”

He went silent and stopped moving the minute he caught sight of Carter, though.

“Whoa, he has an off button?” Guentzel gasped.

That set Travis off again. “You got something to say, Chicken Little?” he chirped. “I can’t hear you over the sound of your ramen noodle hair.”

Carter couldn’t help it—he cackled. Crosby and Sullivan both looked mildly annoyed, but Guentzel looked about ready to follow through on his threat of shooting Travis to get him to shut up.

“As you can see, Mr. Hart,” Sullivan said loudly over the sudden screaming match between Travis and Guentzel, “your comrade is also within our custody. We would prefer not to resort to violence, so we need you to answer our questions.”

Travis stopped yelling at Guentzel long enough to say, “Are you okay, Hartsy?”

Carter looked away from Sullivan and to his concerned friend. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Your eyes are glassy, man.”

“Your cheek is bruised,” Carter shot back.

“Eh, it’s a bruise, I still look hot as fuck with it. But if you have a concussion or some shit, I need to know so I can add that to the list.”

“Oh god, you have a _list_?”

“Hey, these guys are dicks. _Of course_ I have a list. Karma’s a bitch, eh, and that bitch is _me_.”

“Get him out of here, Geno,” Sullivan sighed.

Travis’s struggling renewed, much more vigorously than before. “I’ll be fine, don’t say anything!” he called, only to have the door slam shut behind him.

“I hate him,” Guentzel said unnecessarily.

“The feeling is definitely mutual,” Carter retorted, glaring.

“Mr. Hart,” Sullivan said loudly, “I trust we have your full attention and cooperation now?”

Carter ground his teeth together, frustrated. Everything from his training said to never answer questions when interrogated by the enemy, regardless of the circumstances.

Maybe it was that Carter wasn’t a great spy, but he had known when he first started training that he would never, ever put anything above a teammate. He wasn’t about to change that now.

“Yes,” he gritted out.

“Fantastic. Tell me what happened the Preds.”

“Well, it’s kind of a long story.”

 

* * *

 

 

As far as most missions went, it wasn’t their best.

Sitting in the conference room for the debriefing was a tense affair for everyone involved. Claude was seated near the head of the table where Director Fletcher would sit when he arrived, scowling. Nolan wore an identical expression on his face further down the table, and he kept mumbling under his breath. Travis kept running his fingers through his hair, causing it to stick up in all kinds of different directions. Wayne and Jake were slumped in their seats, leaning their elbows on the table. Shayne was drumming his fingers on the desk anxiously.

Each and every one of them looked tired and rundown, but Travis was the only one that looked truly disheveled with soot smeared across various places on his body and clothes. It was hard to tell what was soot and what was a bruise on some patches of visible skin.

Danny sat by Carter’s side, the only outwardly calm person in the entire room. Still, his eyes were stormy and hard, like anything might set him off.

Director Hextall walked into the room and slammed the door so loudly it shook the room. He walked to his chair at the head of the table and sat down slowly, in a way that was much calmer than his demeanor suggested.

“ _What_ ,” he said through gritted teeth, “the _fuck_ were you _thinking_?”

His eyes were locked on Carter, and he had to quickly remind himself to keep breathing calmly.

“TK was still in the blast radius,” Carter said, voice small.

In their seats, both Nolan and Travis flinched. Carter had yet to say it out loud—no one had, really, but they were all well aware that Travis would not have survived if the explosion had been triggered any earlier. As it was, his arm was already in a sling because of a shoulder sprain from where he had collided with the ground after being thrown from his feet by the force of the explosion.

Director Hextall didn’t seem to think Carter’s reasoning was good enough, and the flare of his nostrils as he breathed in and out angrily was a huge indication of that.

“Not only did a member of your team pursue him on their own _against orders_ , but you also allowed the him to get away,” he hissed. “You let that _hitman_ walk out _alive_.”

Carter had to bite his tongue. He knew that it was on him for not setting off the explosion at the time it was meant to go off, but then again, Travis hadn’t gotten out when Carter had given the call.

“Yes,” Carter finally said.

There was no other way to put it. Carter had let the hitman from Predators get out alive with plenty of time, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He thought back to what Claude had told him after his first mission failure.

_Our priority is always making sure our guys get in and out of there as safely as possible. If it comes down to one of our guys or the mission’s success, I want you to make that decision every time._

Claude wasn’t exactly leaping out of his chair to defend Carter, either. He just stared angrily at the table, his gaze fixed on the same spot since Director Hextall had entered the room.

Carter found that Claude’s silence hurt worse than any wound he had ever received.

Director Hextall massaged his temples, and the room was quiet for a long, drawn out moment. Finally, he sighed.

“We’re sending you back to the Phantoms.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I believe you need to go back further than that,” Sullivan said. “Let’s start from the beginning. _Before_ your interaction with the Preds, not after.”

“It’s really not as relevant as you think.”

“Tell us anyway,” Crosby ordered. “Or should we bring your friend back in here?”

“Wow, no wonder everyone hates you. You’re kind of a prick, y’know?”

“So I’ve been told. Please continue.”

 

* * *

 

 

Well, it all started because they needed information.

Carter was fairly confident in his abilities as Q, and in Nolan’s abilities as an operative. He was not confident, however, in their combined ability to conduct an entire mission by themselves using the Flyer’s resources without anyone figuring it out.

“We’re going to contact the Penguins,” Carter had declared from where they were still loitering in the office bathroom.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Nolan said flatly.

“You have any other ideas?”

“No, but—”

“There’s a leak, or a mole. The Penguins know something, and we need to figure out what it is.”

“This is risky, dude. There’s no way we can do this on our own.

“We have to bring in someone else,” Carter agreed, leaning against the sinks. “We definitely can’t let Claude or Jake or any of those guys know unless they _really_ have to be told.”

“Well, _duh_. They’d never let us attempt something like this.”

“Trust me, I know,” Carter mumbled. “But I also don’t want to drag our friends into this. I don’t even want _you_ involved in this. We’ll be in huge trouble if we’re caught.”

“Tough shit, man. You’re stuck with me.”

Carter couldn’t even begin to voice how grateful he was for that, so he chose not to. “So where does that leave us?”

Nolan hummed thoughtfully. “I know for a fact we can’t be the only ones that hate the Pens. They’re awful people with very punchable faces.”

“Definitely,” Carter snorted agreed. “So should I start there? See if I can get in touch with people that hate the Pens and are willing to give us a way to contact them, or like, some information?”

“I don’t see any other option.”

 

* * *

 

 

“And so you contacted the Preds?” Crosby snorted. “That was dumb.”

“Don’t be a stupid. We contacted your _other_ besties first.”

 

* * *

 

 

It took several days, but Carter was able to find the name of the Washington Capitals’ hacker buried in a list of contacts.

The Capitals were not a special ops organization—in fact, they were definitely more of a mob. Rumor had it that their boss had previously been a Russian spy but had run away to marry some Swedish man. Carter wasn’t sure how much truth was behind that, but it also wasn’t relevant to what he needed to know, so it really didn’t matter.

Thankfully, the Flyers and the Capitals had pretty much always been on good terms. It was probably out of mutual hatred for the Penguins, and the fact that their boss was always willing to trade secrets for the right price.

“I found someone,” Carter told Nolan.

They were seated on Nolan’s couch, the TV playing some HGTV show in the background. Neither paid attention to it; they were too busy pouring over the various documents and files that Carter had managed to drag out.

“Who?”

“It says here that his name is H. He’s one of the hackers for the Capitals.” Carter had never personally worked with H, but he had worked with their other hacker, Copley.

“Oh yeah, we’ve worked with them before. Their boss is batshit insane.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

The file on previous Agent 008 confirmed that he had, in fact, been a spy in Russia. His name was not redacted, and that was probably because Alexander Ovechkin had a record longer than even Sidney Crosby. Ovechkin was damaging and unpredictable in the same way that an explosion could be. Carter knew that Crosby was probably just as scary, but in a way that was quieter, like a slow-acting poison.

“They’ve faced the Pens a lot, too, and their Crosby and Ovechkin aren’t on the best of terms. Malkin apparently also had beef with Ovechkin.”

“Not surprised. A lot of people have beef with Malkin,” Nolan said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t mention that he himself disliked Malkin, but Carter felt that went without needing to be stated aloud.

“Yeah. I think it’s best we start there.”

“Any other ideas, just in case this one doesn’t pan out?”

Carter handed over a manila folder with _Predators_ written on the tab.

“No,” Nolan said, shoving the file away. “We can’t talk to them.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Did you not read their file? They’re a bunch of deadly hitmen. Every run-in we have with them ends in disaster.” Nolan was frowning, a line between his eyebrows. “I get that we’re desperate, but we’re not _that_ desperate yet. They need to be a last resort.”

Carter nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll see if I can get into contact with H.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Since the Preds have a price on your head, I guess you didn’t get information from the Caps,” Guentzel snorted.

“I’m sorry, are you a person of relevance?” Carter asked, blinking innocently. He had decided rather quickly that he disliked Guentzel, and since Travis had pointed out his resemblance to Chicken Little, he disliked him even more. “I’ve forgotten already.”

Sullivan pinched the bridge of his nose, and Crosby had to put his hand on Guentzel’s shoulder to silence whatever retort was about to come Carter’s way.

“It’s a good question,” Sullivan said. “I’d also like to know.”

“Tell Chicken Little to stop interrupting me, then.”

 

* * *

 

 

He decided that the most direct course of action would be to call the number that was next to H’s name in the file. There was also a verification code beside the number, and Carter made sure to write it down on a sticky note before he dialed.

The phone rang twice before someone answered, simply saying, “V-code.”

“Uh, 0607-SCC,” Carter stammered.

There was a pause, and then, “Why are you calling me from the Flyers with an outdated verification code?”

“I was trying to reach H and it’s the only code in the file,” Carter said.

“An _old_ file,” the speaker hummed in agreement. “So, to which Flyer am I speaking?”

“I, uh, I’m 079. I’m the current Q.”

“Oh, you’re Carter! Why didn’t you just say so?”

“I—"

“I’ve been meaning to call you, but things have been absolutely crazy over here, so I haven’t had the chance.”

“You—huh?”

“Shoot, sorry, this probably sounds weird to you,” the speaker chuckled. “I’m Braden Holtby. Michal Neuvirth told me that you were coming in to work for the Flyers.”

Carter frowned. “You know Neuvy?”

“Well, yeah. He used to be work for us.”

Carter felt blindsided by that bit of information. “I had no idea.”

“Now you know,” Braden said calmly. “Anyway, he told me that you were coming in from the Phantoms, and that you’re new to this whole thing—not anymore, I guess, since it’s been a few months—but he told me that the next time we worked with you guys, it would likely be with you as Q. He asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“Yeah, Neuvy and Stolie aren’t really—uh, they’re not ready to get back to it yet.” They probably never would be, but there was no reason for Carter to say it out loud.

Braden hummed. “Gotcha. Well, I assume you aren’t calling me about a mission, since I haven’t been briefed or done any research for a joint job. What can I do for you, Carter?”

“I have some questions about the Penguins.”

Braden sucked in a breath. “Honestly, man, you should just avoid them if you can. They’re not nice guys.”

“Oh yeah, I know,” Carter sighed. “I’ve had a run-in with them before.”

“Then don’t repeat it. Make that run-in the only one you have for as long as you can help it.”

“I really need to contact them, though.”

“… Does your Captain know you’re trying to contact your team’s enemy?”

Carter didn’t want to lie, so he very calmly said, “No.”

“Hm, I see,” Braden hummed. “I won’t help you.”

“Huh?”

“No offense, kid, but I’m not about to help you get into contact with the Penguins for no reason,” Braden said, and he sounded far less happy. “For a mission, I would, but if I’m being completely honest, there would never be a need to contact them. I don’t know why you want to, but—don’t. Just don’t.”

Carter couldn’t help but feeling extremely frustrated. “If I told you why I needed to contact them, would that change your mind?”

“Nope. I’m not going to be the guy that gets you killed, which is what will happen if you go after them on your own.”

“I’m not on my own. I have some help.”

“Oh yeah? From, what, three members of your team who agreed not to tell your Captain?”

“… One, actually.”

Braden laughed. “I can’t decide if that’s really brave or really dumb, but I’m choosing to go with the former. I admire that, Carter, I really do.”

“But you won’t tell me anything.”

“No, _I_ won’t, but I can point you in the direction of someone that _might_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Carter had avoided saying Braden’s name to the assembled Penguins, referring to him instead as H, but Crosby seemed to recognize who it was immediately.

“Ah, Holtby,” he sighed. “The resident hippie.”

Carter frowned. “You know him?”

“Of course we know him,” Guentzel snorted. “The only other team that is on par with yours at being pesky is the Caps. Personally, I think the Flyers are the _most_ pesky of the two of you.”

“I’m honored, I really am,” Carter said flatly.

“Who did Holtby tell you to contact after that?”

“Well, he told me to try finding—”

 

* * *

 

 

“Cam Talbot?” Nolan squawked.

“You know him?”

“I mean, not personally, but he’s the Q for that team up in Edmonton. They once had the greatest man in espionage, Wayne Gretzky.”

Carter _definitely_ knew who Wayne Gretzky was. “Oh, great. So Holtby told me to contact a team that probably wouldn’t even bother to give me the time of day.”

“Well, I mean, it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

He called the number that Holtby had given him the next day on his lunch break, when he was fairly certain no one would bother him because they were too busy eating their own lunches.

Cam Talbot answered just as Holtby had the day before, simply saying, “V-code,” when he picked up.

Carter rattled off the code that Holtby had given him, and Cam Talbot actually laughed.

“Holy shit, I didn’t think Holts was serious,” he wheezed. “Oh my god, you really are trying to get yourself killed, aren’t you?”

“The idea is to avoid dying, so thanks for the show of confidence,” Carter replied, and he couldn’t help but feel irritated all over again. “Braden didn’t have the full story, anyway.”

“Hm. I’m intrigued.”

So Carter told him some of what he knew—not everything, of course, because there was the need to be somewhat discreet, but he did tell Cam about the Flyers’ Q situation, and some of what Commissioner Bettman had said, as well as what Taylor had said to him during their last run-in with the Penguins.

“That _is_ really weird,” Cam agreed after a moment, and he sounded far more serious now. “The Penguins shouldn’t have that kind of information.”

“That’s why I’m trying to get into contact with them,” Carter said. “I know it’s a long shot, but I need to know who they’re getting this information from, and since they’re the ones I heard it from, I figured that’s as good a place as any to start.”

Cam made a noise of agreement. “Normally I’d be all for giving you the information you need, but—”

“But you won’t,” Carter finished, defeated.

“Sorry, man. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Why?”

Cam was quiet, hesitant. “You’re not going to get anywhere. I doubt the Penguins are going to tell you where they got their information just because you ask politely.”

“Well, it’s not like I have any other ideas,” Carter sighed. “Thanks anyway, Cam.”

“Sure.”

 

* * *

 

 

“And _then_ you contacted the Preds?”

“I’m sorry, did _you_ want to tell this story, Ramen?”

 

* * *

 

 

While Nolan and Carter had files spread out all over the floor trying to decide their next course of action later that evening, Travis walked in through the front door.

“Hey, I ordered Chinese, do you—” He paused in the doorway, taking in the scene around him, including his startled friends. “Um.”

“Knock much?” Nolan sniped.

“You gave me a key, you douche.”

“Chinese sounds great,” Carter offered weakly, and began trying to gather the papers and files.

Travis placed the bags of food on the coffee table and snatched up one of the folders closest to him. “Why do you have a file about the Penguins?” he demanded, holding it up like it was precious evidence. “We don’t have any missions involving them coming up.”

“Can never be too careful,” Carter replied, and Travis scowled.

“What the hell is going on?”

Carter and Nolan shared a look and a sigh, and told him everything.

Afterwards, Travis looked about ready to punch them both in the face.

“That’s fucking stupid,” he hissed. “You both have a death wish.”

“We’re actually trying to make sure Carter _doesn’t_ get killed.”

“And you think going after the Preds won’t get us _all_ killed?” Travis snapped. “Stop this right now or I’m telling Claude.”

Carter winced. “TK—”

“ _No_. I’m not going to let you talk me out of it,” he said firmly. “And I’m certainly not going to let you go through with this misguided investigation. You’re not Nancy Drew, Hartsy. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Travis,” Nolan said calmly, and he never called Travis by his first name, so it sounded rather serious. “There’s a mole. We have to figure out who’s giving up our information. Hartsy won’t be the only one in trouble if—”

Travis snatched up the Chinese food from the table and started off toward the door. “Fine, whatever. If you won’t listen to reason—”

“We’ll stop,” Carter blurted. “We won’t look into it anymore.”

Travis paused, his hand on the doorknob before he nodded just once and then left, the door slamming behind him.

“Shit,” Nolan muttered, scrubbing at his eyes. “He was pissed.”

Carter nodded mutely. Travis was short tempered and quick to become irate, and he would explode and let you have it if you were the reason behind it. But his anger, his _real_ anger, was silent.

“Are we really done?” Nolan asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Carter said. “Yeah, I think we are.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So how did the Preds become involved?” Crosby asked.

“I’m getting there,” Carter said impatiently. “You told me from the beginning, so that’s where I started. I was trying to give you the Sparknotes version of the movie _Titanic_ , but you wanted to whole four-hour movie.”

Crosby massaged his temples, obviously still displeased with Carter’s sass.

“Go on,” Sullivan said.

 

* * *

 

 

As luck would have it, Carter had no need to contact the Preds.

Their mission was not an easy one. In fact, cleanups in general were never an easy task, and cleanups planned on short notice were as bad as it got.

“This thing is confusing,” Carter warned everyone, squinting at the blueprints for the building. It was a mess of hallways and stairwells, and since the mission was so last minute, he was not nearly as familiar with the layout as he liked to be for jobs.

The warehouse was apparently the base of operations for a small human trafficking ring that the Phantoms had stumbled upon during their latest mission. Carter didn’t have all the details, there had been quite a bit of chaos and they had been quick to contact the Flyers when they realized just how out of their depth they were.

Now, it was their job to completely demolish the building.

“Just do your best,” Claude said encouragingly. “We can only work with what we’ve got.”

Carter let out a sigh. “True.”

“Wow, I had no idea you were such a perfectionist,” Wayne said sarcastically.

Shayne snickered. “I love a good lie before a mission.”

“You’re insane,” Nolan muttered.

“You’re one of us,” Jake pointed out calmly.

Travis, predictably, said nothing, but he hadn’t said anything to Carter or Nolan in days. He was like a storm, sweeping into Nolan and Carter’s amateur investigation, wreaking havoc, and disappearing without a trace.

“What’s your ETA on the building?” Carter asked, trying to focus on the matter at hand.

“Right now, actually,” Jake hummed, and Carter could hear the muffled sounds of seatbelts clicking as they were unfasted. “You got eyes?”

Carter had gained access to the warehouse cameras before the team had even left to go infiltrate it, and he looked at each screen until he found a view of outside where they had parked their armored truck. “Yeah, I see you. You’re closest to the north entrance.”

The extraction team unloaded and was immediately making their way toward the door.

“Alarm system?” Claude asked shortly.

“The Phantoms had it disabled last time they were here. You’re good to go.”

He reached for the door, but it was locked, so he pulled out the gun on his hip, took aim, and fired at it. The shot was muffled, and it left a large hole where the doorknob has once been.

“Why is it your first choice is to shoot things?” Wayne asked, amused.

“It’s therapeutic,” Claude said with a shrug, kicking the door open and stepping in.

They all filed in behind their leader, a long dark hallway before them.

“028, you’ve got the north corridor,” Carter said. “093, south. 017, east. 053, west. 011 and 019—”

“Center,” Nolan finished. He sounded far too stiff, probably because he was about to be alone with Travis, who was still very much angry at them. “Yeah, we got it.”

“Okay,” Claude said. “Drop it and get out. 079 will trigger the blast as soon as we’re out.”

They went their separate ways, and Carter was beginning to become a little uneasy. He had the worst feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re a really boring storyteller,” Guentzel told him.

“I like to hear myself talk,” Carter replied flatly. “Not as much as you, obviously, since you _keep_ _interrupting me_.”

“No, he’s right,” Sullivan said shortly. “You’re drawing this out. Sparknotes version, right? Get to the main point. We’ve got more than enough background.”

Carter sighed. “Well, long story short, Patty and TK got to their section of the building and found PK Subban waiting for them.”

“Oh, your favorite,” Guentzel snickered, looking over at Crosby.

Carter rolled his eyes. “Anyway, he said he wasn’t there to cause trouble and that he just wanted to talk. He heard that I had been asking about the Preds, and he was sent to find out why.”

“Well, what did you tell him?”

“I mean, I wasn’t _there_ ,” Carter said. “This is the good part of the story, I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Planting the explosives now,” Claude reported to Carter.

“Same here,” Wayne reported, and Shayne and Jake sounded off as well.

“These halls are confusing,” Nolan complained. “011 and I aren’t even in the middle of the building yet.”

“You need help?” Carter asked.

“Nah, we’re good,” Travis said curtly.

That was when Carter’s headset started blasting white noise.

He yelped and pulled it away from his ear. His screens started looking fuzzy before showing a completely blue screensaver.

“Shit,” he said.

“Sorry about that,” a cheery accented voice suddenly said over his headset. “This is a warning. Get your team out now.”

“Who is this?” Carter demanded.

“None of your concern, Carter,” the person continued, and Carter felt a chill run down his spine. “Be quick, please. If they’re not out of the building in the next five minutes, who knows what will happen.”

The fuzzy noises faded.

“—hear me? 079, come in!” Claude barked.

“Get out!” Carter shouted, just as his screens came back to life. He could see a vehicle on the south side of the building, and he wondered how long it had been there. “Someone just hacked my transmission.”

“Shit,” Jake hissed. “

Carter couldn’t locate them on the screens. “Do your best,” he urged. “I don’t know who they are, but they’re on the premises.”

“We’re coming up to the location now,” Travis said. “We need five, 079.”

“Forget it,” Claude snapped. “Get out.”

“We’re—” Nolan was cut off with the sound of a gunshot.

“019, sound off!” Claude ordered. Carter watched him stop running toward the exit on the screens, pausing like he was ready to turn back and find Nolan and Travis.

“I’m fine,” Nolan said, but he and Travis had drawn their guns and had them trained on a corner of shadows.

There was movement on the screen as a man stepped out of the shadows on the screen where Travis and Nolan were, and Carter cursed. “It’s the Preds,” he said, immediately recognizing the face of PK Subban.

“Get the Director on,” Claude ordered.

Carter’s headset buzzed again. “Times up, Carter,” the same voice from before said. “I’m cutting connections with your team. I hope they manage to get out.”

“Stop!” Carter shouted, but the mysterious voice was gone again.

He tried several times to connect to his team, but something was wrong with their headsets. He quickly deduced that there was probably some kind of device interfering with their systems.

He called the Director after that.

“The Preds are there,” Carter told him. “I don’t have contact with the team.”

“Are they out?” Director Hextall demanded.

Carter checked the screens. “Everyone except 011 and 019,” he said, and then told him about the standoff they were having with PK Subban. They were still in the room with the hitman, guns drawn and at the ready, but it looked like they were just talking. PK didn’t even have his gun held up, instead letting it hang loosely at his side.

Carter knew that didn’t mean anything, though. He wasn’t any less dangerous in the relaxed pose.

“Detonate,” Director Hextall ordered.

Carter stared at the screen where his friends were, taking a moment to really digest what he had just been ordered to do. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “Could you repeat that?”

“Detonate the explosives,” Director Hextall repeated impatiently. “You told them to get out, and they didn’t listen. Stick with mission, 079.”

“I—” Carter’s voice cracked, and he said the first thing that came to mind. “No.”

“ _No_?”

“No,” Carter repeated. On the screen, Nolan and Travis shared a heated argument before Nolan stormed away, leaving Travis and PK alone. “019 is coming out now. 011 should be behind him soon.”

“079, if you don’t blow the building up right now, you’re disobeying a direct order,” Director Hextall said harshly. “Do you understand that?”

“Whoops, you’re breaking up,” Carter said, and then disconnected the call before Director Hextall could say anything else.

Nolan made it out of the building and to the van, his face contorted with dismay. Claude and the rest of the team were there, demanding an explanation, which Nolan must have been giving. Carter couldn’t hear any of it.

Travis and PK exchanged a few more words, and then PK gave a jaunty little wave before he left the room. Carter tracked him on the cameras, watching on another as Travis waited for a few seconds before he started running back the way he had come.

Carter’s headset buzzed again. “I suppose you can have contact back,” the mystery man said.

“Who are you?” Carter demanded.

“Agent 035,” the mystery man said. “See you soon, Carter.” He disconnected, and Carter was quick to restore the connection with his team.

“Is everyone okay?” he asked.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” Claude demanded.

“I wish I knew,” Carter admitted.

“I’m almost out,” Travis panted as he ran at full speed. “God, I’m so fucking sorry, I—”

“Shut up and just run,” Nolan barked, his voice strained.

The door to the control room burst open, Danny pleading with the Director as he swept into the room. He marched right up to Carter, completely ignoring Danny as he attempted to calm him down.

“If you don’t detonate the explosives,” he said with thinly veiled anger, “I will make sure that you never work for any special ops team again.”

Carter didn’t look up to meet his eyes, instead focused on Travis as he ran. “Ten seconds,” he pleaded. “That’s all he needs.”

On another screen, PK Subban was hopping into the dark van on the other side of the building and driving away.

Travis reached for the door that would get him out.

“Now!” Director Fletcher Hextall, and Carter pressed the button, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

The entire building went up in flames, and Travis was thrown from his feet with the force of it, sprawling painfully on the concrete. Carter breathed out a sigh of relief, and finally looked up.

Danny stared at him, horrified, and Director Hextall glowered.

“Conference room, now,” he barked, and then turned away and stomped out of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

“What did PK Subban say to your guys?”

“I’m getting there. We’re finally at the _relevant_ part of the story, which we could have come to a lot _earlier_ if you had just let me—”

“Fine, fine,” Crosby sighed. “Continue.”

 

* * *

 

 

 And that was how Carter found himself in the conference room with his entire life falling apart around him.

“We’re sending you back to the Phantoms. It’s just not working out right now.”

Claude looked up, surprise mixed with his anger. “ _What?_ ”

Danny cringed beside Carter at the loud outburst, but Director Hextall was unaffected. “You heard me, Captain,” he said calmly. Actually, Carter couldn’t be sure how calm he sounded. Everything sounded faint and muffled, like he was hearing from underwater. He might have been panicking just a little.

“That’s the stupidest fucking idea you’ve _ever_ had,” Claude said, and Danny seemed to sink lower in his seat, mumbling something in French that Carter was pretty sure meant _you idiot_.

Jake was holding onto Claude’s shirt sleeve with a death grip, his lips a thin line. However light it was, his hold on Claude was likely the only thing keeping their Captain in his seat.

“Is it?” Director Hextall quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed. “079 has had wonderful success here, but he has also had one too many incidents. Every time we have come into contact with the Penguins, they have either foiled our missions or completely evaded us altogether under his direction. Once is fine—once is _expected_ , even, especially of someone so inexperienced and young as 079.” His gaze was hard. “But more than once is too much, not to mention this blunder today with the Preds. He disobeyed a direct order. 079 simply isn’t where we need him to be.”

“ _Carter_ is the best we’ve got,” Wayne piped up, and suddenly Jake had his other hand on his sleeve as well. It was kind of funny, in a way, with Jake holding onto two of the most intimidating and deadly men that Carter had ever met like one might hold onto a balloon string.

Director Hextall stood. “My mind is made up. 079, make sure you clear your belongings out of your locker before you leave today. I will let the Phantoms know to expect your arrival tomorrow morning in time for you to attend classes.”

“Yes, sir,” someone said hollowly. It took Carter a moment to realize that it was him that had said it, but his voice sounded foreign to his own ears.

There was silence for a moment while he stared at the opposite wall, his chest tight, until someone touched his shoulder. It was a careful touch, like they were afraid they might break him.

“Carter?” Danny asked softly.

Carter looked at where Director Fletcher had been seated and found that he had already left the room.

He turned his eyes to Danny. “Yes?”

Danny frowned, and suddenly chaos broke out amongst the remaining inhabitants of the room.

“This is _bullshit_ ,” Nolan mumbled.

“Absolutely!” Travis agreed, sneering. “How the fuck are we supposed to have any success at all without Carter? He’s the only thing keeping us afloat.”

Claude was suddenly beside Danny, gaze firm.

“I’m sorry,” Carter blurted before Claude could say anything.

Claude sighed, bringing his hand up to Carter’s other shoulder—the one that Danny wasn’t already resting his own hand on. “You have nothing to be sorry for, kid.”

“I get that, but—” Carter searched for the right words to say, but couldn’t quite find anything adequate. He settled for, “I’m sorry that I can’t be your Quartermaster anymore. I’m not sorry about what I did, though.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be,” Claude agreed. “In fact, you shouldn’t be sorry _at all_. And you’re _not_ going anywhere.”

“But Director Hextall said—”

“Director Hextall can kiss my ass,” Claude sniped. “He always does this—he runs our Quartermasters into the ground, jumps all over them for any mistake, and is all around horrible to them. It’s like he forgets that he _was_ one, once.”

Carter wasn’t quite sure what to say or do, so he said nothing at all.

After all, what could one say when everything they had worked so hard for was just gone?

 

* * *

 

 

“Did your pals tell you what PK Subban said to them or not?” Sullivan asked.

“Well, _duh_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Claude marched right to Director Hextall’s office with Danny at his side, so Nolan and Travis grabbed Carter and immediately went to the parking garage to get the heck out.

“Where are we going?” Carter asked hollowly as he was forced to sit in the backseat of Travis’s car. “I have to go pack my stuff.”

“No time. We have to get you to a safehouse,” Nolan said, getting behind the wheel. He wasn't eager to let Travis drive with his arm still in a sling, despite their friend insisting that he could drive just fine with one hand. “You’re in bigger trouble than we thought.”

“What do you mean?” Carter demanded.

“PK wanted to know why we were asking about the Preds,” Nolan said. “He said he knew that Nolan Patrick and Carter Hart were asking about him, and he knew that TK and I were sent to the center of the building. He didn’t know which one of us was which, and TK lied and said he was me.”

“Not my fault that he bought it,” Travis snorted as they drove into Philly traffic. “He made Patty leave after that.”

“How did he do that?” Carter asked. He knew how stubborn Nolan could be.

“Well, he _might_ have threatened to shoot me,” Travis said calmly, like he wasn’t talking about dying. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Of course,” Carter sighed, sinking in the backseat. “You two are so weird about each other.”

“Hey, you’re the one who’s weird,” Nolan shot back. “You literally just got fired for caring too much.”

“Dude,” Travis hissed. “Not cool.”

“Sorry,” Nolan said.

Carter didn’t care. He was too focused on the new information. “So what did he say?” he demanded. “What did _you_ say?”

“Well, like I said, he wanted to know why you were asking about the Preds,” Travis said. “So I told him, like, a little of what I knew. Just that the Pens had info on you and we wanted to know why, and he said that it was because there’s a mole. Which we already knew, so, y’know, he was kind of unhelpful.”

“Did he know who it was?”

“Nah,” Travis said. “Or if he did, he definitely didn’t _say_ who it was.”

"Of course not," Carter sighed. “That’s it?”

“Oh, definitely not,” Nolan said. “Tell him, TK.”

Travis’s lips pursed. “He said there’s a hit out for you, Hartsy,” he said with false calm. “From his higher ups.”

“Fantastic,” Carter said flatly. “Just because I asked questions about them?”

“Actually, here’s the punchline to this pathetic joke,” Nolan said, and he didn’t sound at all amused. “He said that they’d had the hit on you for _weeks_ before we even started asking around about them.”

“Shit,” Carter breathed. “So who—?”

“We don’t know,” Nolan said. “He wouldn’t say. In fact, I don’t even think _he_ knew. He just said they were hired to take you out.”

“… Why would he tell you that?” Carter murmured. “That kind of ruins the element of surprise, doesn’t it? I know about it now. I’ll be more on guard.”

“I don’t pretend to know how hitmen think,” Nolan said with a shrug. “All I know is that we have to get you out of here. There’s a safehouse just outside of York. No one will look for us there.”

 

* * *

 

 

“And I guess that’s when we found you, eh?” Crosby asked.

“I guess so,” Carter said with a shrug.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour into their drive, they had to stop and get gas, and Nolan had to pee.

“I’m gonna grab snacks and stuff on my way out,” he said, closing the door behind him. “You want anything?”

“Gatorade,” Travis said, getting out to pump gas.

Carter declined snacks and got out to stretch his legs. They still had a little while to go, after all.

The gas station was practically empty so late at night. They were taking back roads to avoid too much attention, and the little gas station that they had stopped at was practically abandoned. They were the only ones at the pumps, and the only other car that was parked close to the little convenient store probably belonged to whoever was working the counter.

“You good?” Travis asked him, leaning against the car and frowning over at him with concern.

“Yeah,” Carter said with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“About what?” Travis asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“For getting you involved,” Carter said. “You shouldn’t even know about this.”

Travis shrugged. “I can’t trust you two to be smart about this,” he said. “I figure three dumbasses are better than one, y’know?” He grinned. “Besides, you stopped looking into this stuff when I asked you to. I mean, you definitely did some stupid shit and we’re paying for it now, but you listened to me, and that means a lot.”

“Still,” Carter said quietly. “It didn’t exactly help.”

“So? Nothing we can do about it now,” Travis said with a shrug, eyeing a dark SUV as it pulled into the gas station. “We just have to be careful and—”

The SUV screeched to a halt right behind their car, and men in black and ski masks jumped out.

“For fuck’s sake,” Travis grumbled, grabbing Carter and shoving him behind him.

It wasn’t a fair fight.

Travis did his best despite having one arm in a sling, but they were surrounded very quickly. Even as Travis started throwing punches, Carter was grabbed roughly from behind, and he turned just in time to see a gun coming down from above his head.

 

* * *

 

 

“And now I’m here,” Carter finished. “And I just wasted, like, an hour of my life telling you a story that could have been much shorter.”

Crosby shrugged. “We’re also assuming you told the truth. You could have told us an entire lie, right up until the end.”

“True, I mean, it’s not like you threatened my friend or anything,” Carter said sarcastically. “I would just lie and risk him getting killed, as one does.”

Sullivan sighed. “Well, regardless, we still have to decide what to do with you. There’s a price on your head, if you will recall—”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Carter deadpanned. “Tell me something I _don’t_ know.”

“Well, we haven’t quite decided what to do about that,” Sullivan admitted. “I’m sure your other friend—Nolan, was it?—has gotten back to the Flyers by now and alerted them to you and your friend’s disappearance. We could ransom you back to them, or we could hang onto you to keep them out of our way in the future.”

“But you won’t,” Carter said knowingly. “That wouldn’t stop them. You’d only make them angry.”

“Very true,” Sullivan agreed. “We’ll figure it out, I suppose. You’re here in our custody, so it’s not like we’re under a time crunch or anything. We could just return you to them in the same condition as past Q’s and let them scramble to find your replacement.”

Carter tried to ignore the obvious threat. It wouldn’t help him to panic anymore. “Since I answered your question, you should reciprocate and answer one of mine,” he said instead.

“You can _ask_ ,” Crosby said with a shrug. “Doesn’t mean we’ll answer it.”

“Who’s the mole?” Carter demanded. “I know there’s one with the Flyers, or you wouldn’t have the information on me that you have, or on the past Q’s.”

Sullivan smiled slightly. “Why would we tell you that, Mr. Hart? It’s good information, and in case you forgot, our organizations aren’t friends. Any information we can get on your team is good enough for us.”

“But you _know_ ,” Carter murmured. “You know who it is.”

Sullivan shrugged. “I can’t say.” He started off toward the door, his agents behind him. “Try to get some sleep, Mr. Hart, and you might just find out when we return tomorrow.”

The door shut behind them, and Carter was left alone tied to the chair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a doozy to write lol. i realized a few weeks after publishing the first chapter that im a dumbass and was calling director hextall director fletcher this whole time so if you read this before and suddenly fletcher is replaced with hextall, that's why and im sorry
> 
> as usual im the queen of mistakes so please call me out because i bet there are many in this monster of a chapter. i attempted to find everything myself but in 10k words i fixed what i could and i rarely find my own mistakes so im sorry for that
> 
> im sure you can see that ive added a minor character death tag. not to be too spoilery, but i can promise its none of our boys. please read warnings at the end for more details before continuing to read if there is anything you might be squeamish about.

When Nolan was standing at the counter to the gas station convenience store with an arm full of candy and soda, he had been in a decently good mood. Sure, his friend was in danger, but they were dealing with it, and what better way to deal with it than driving to a safehouse with gummy bears and Mountain Dew?

“Thank you,” he said to the cashier, taking the bag of junk and heading toward the door.

He paused as it closed behind him, frowning at the car by the pump. Travis and Carter were nowhere in sight, but a pair of keys laid on the ground right next to the driver’s side door.

They were _Travis’s_ keys, specifically.

“Fuck,” Nolan said eloquently.

 

* * *

 

 

Claude called him when he was halfway back to Philly.

“Are you with Carter?” his worried Captain demanded. “Coots said you all left together, but he won’t answer my calls or texts.”

Nolan grimaced. When he had looked, Carter and Travis’s phones hadn’t been in the car, so he assumed they’d had the devices when they’d disappeared. The first thing he had attempted to do was locate them via Find My Friends and, when nothing else had worked and he’d been desperate, Snapchat.

There was nothing.

“Uh, about that,” he mumbled. “No.”

“What does that even mean?” Claude demanded, obviously frustrated.

“We were on our way to a safehouse and we stopped to get gas and—”

“Wait, a _safehouse_?” Claude interrupted. “Why?”

Nolan hesitated. “TK and I were worried about Hartsy. Something happened today, with the Preds.”

Claude cursed. “We can’t discuss this over an unsecure line. How far are you from HQ?”

“I’m thirty minutes out.”

“Make it twenty.”

Nolan sighed and glanced at the GPS. “You got it, boss.”

 

* * *

 

 

“First of all, I just want to say that this is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

Nolan flinched. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”

The moment he returned to HQ, Claude had ushered him into a conference room where the rest of the entire team was waiting. Nolan hadn’t realized he was about to catch _everyone_ up on the last couple of disastrous hours.

Still, he told them everything, from Taylor during their hotel mission to Braden Holtby and Cam Talbot and PK Subban’s ominous warnings.

Needless to say, Claude hadn’t been pleased.

“Calm down,” Danny ordered Claude. “It’s happened already. We can only figure out what to do from here.”

“We don’t even know where to _begin_ ,” Claude said. “The Preds are hard to track. If they’re responsible for this, we could be looking for TK and Carter for _months_.”

“We’ll find them,” Danny said, and Nolan wasn’t quite sure if it was for Claude’s benefit or his own.

Neuvy stood up from his seat at the table. “I’m going to see what I can dig up, maybe reach out to some old teammates and see if they can tell me anything.”

“I’ll call the Schenn’s,” Wayne added. “The Canucks and the Blues may not have any idea, but it’s something.”

“And maybe someone in Montreal has heard something,” Danny offered. “Or Buffalo, even. I’ll give them a call, too.” He patted Claude’s shoulder. “We have somewhere to start. Worrying like this isn’t going to help us find them.”

Claude let out a shaky breath. “Okay. I’m going to—” He winced. “Never mind, I take that back. We _definitely_ can’t tell Hextall.”

“Hell no,” Jake agreed. “Dumb idea, G.”

“ _I took it back_.”

Jake rolled his eyes.

“What should the rest of us do?” Shayne asked.

Claude really wished he could give them something, but it was nearing one in the morning and they had all had a fairly rough day. “Sleep,” he ordered. “We need to be well-rested and ready to go the moment we have something.”

“Take your own advice, Captain,” Sean said, quirking a dark brow.

“I’ll sleep when we’ve got them back.”

Sean shrugged. “Well then, I guess none of us are getting any sleep tonight.”

 

* * *

 

 

Claude forced Nolan to get some sleep in the medical ward, and Oskar laid in a bed on his other side.

“So,” Oskar said around a yawn. “This is a shitshow.”

“You have no idea,” Nolan sighed.

Oskar stared up at the ceiling, blinking sluggishly. “You’re not gonna sleep, are you?”

Nolan sat up. “Fuck no. I’m going to make some calls.”

Oskar copied him and sat up as well. “Great. Who are we calling first?”

“ _I’m_ making calls,” Nolan reiterated. “Me. Not you, pal.”

“I’ll snitch to G,” Oskar threatened.

Nolan’s eyes narrowed. “You _wouldn’t_.”

“Try me.”

He would, Nolan knew. The only thing that sucked about his friends was that they were just as stubborn and determined as he was.

Oskar must have been able to sense him giving in because he perked up almost instantly. “So,” he said cheerily, “Who are we calling?”

 

* * *

 

 

Braden Holtby was very much not impressed.

“How do you lose two human beings?” he demanded. “Who even _are_ you? Are you the greasy Flyer or the pretty one?”

“I’m _definitely_ the pretty one,” Oskar piped up. “Nolan is the greasy one.”

Oskar and Nolan had sneaked out of the medical ward and up to Carter’s abandoned desk. Everyone else had gone off to Neuvy’s little office to get his help and advice in tracking their friend, but that left Carter’s desk completely unguarded.

In the bottom drawer of his desk hidden all the way in the back was a small file. It was all that remained of their small investigation before Travis had demanded they end it. Amongst the meager papers was a number, and Nolan really wished it hadn’t been for the mob.

Nolan ground his teeth. “Listen, man, that’s not the point. Can you help us find them or not?”

“I can certainly try, I guess,” Holtby sighed dramatically. “You Flyers are a disaster searching for a place to happen, aren’t you?”

“Always,” Nolan confirmed. “We were at a gas station.”

“Address?”

Nolan rattled it off, and Holtby was silent for a minute.

“I have security footage,” he said after a moment. “It’s corrupted. Someone definitely was here before me and tried to get rid of it. I’m talking Q level tampering.”

“Any idea which Q?” Oskar asked.

Holtby hummed. “I recognize Neuvy’s coding. He was already in here, so he has the same info already. There was someone before him, though, and I have my suspicions,” he said slowly. “Every hacker has their own virtual fingerprint. No one does everything exactly the same as the next person. This coding is definitely familiar.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t want to go starting shit just in case I’m wrong,” Holtby warned.

“That’s what investigating is for,” Nolan said. “Just tell me who, and we’ll look into it.”

“No can do, kid,” Holtby said. “Last time Carter called, he wanted info. Now he’s missing. I’m not going to just hand you information and let you go off with a half-assed plan and get yourself killed.”

Nolan felt himself getting angry very quickly, but before he could speak up, Holtby plowed on. “I’m going to get a second opinion. After that, I’ll call you back, but my boss will want to speak with your Captain.”

“He’s a bit busy,” Oskar said, laying a calm hand on Nolan’s shoulder to keep his friend from snapping.

“Trust me, if he cares about Carter, he’ll make time if I’m right,” Holtby said. “I’ll call back in exactly thirty minutes. Be prepared to answer my call.” With that, he disconnected, and the line went dead.

Nolan scowled as he hung up Carter’s phone. “Great. What the heck are we going to do for thirty minutes?”

Oskar shrugged. “We could wait, or we could look at the rest of that file,” he said, pointing to where it still laid open on Carter’s desk.

“Or you two idiots could go back to the medical ward and get some sleep like G instructed,” a voice drawled behind them.

Nolan and Oskar tried not to look like startled children as they turned around to find Wayne hovering in the doorway.

Oskar smiled brightly in a way that promised nothing but rainbows and daisies. No one who smiled like that was capable of doing anything wrong. “Hey, Simmer,” he said cheerily. “How’s the search going?”

Wayne quirked an eyebrow. “It’s going,” he said vaguely. “And you two are going. Back to medical.”

Nolan sighed and slumped where he was sitting in Carter’s chair. “We can’t do that,” he said. “Not while Hartsy and TK are missing.”

Wayne looked them both up and down, likely calculating his next move. “G will be pissed,” he warned. “Especially if he finds out I saw you two and didn’t say anything.”

Nolan felt a spark of hope. “He won’t know,” he promised.

“Unless we find something useful. Then he’ll know,” Oskar pointed out.

“But by then he’ll be too happy that we’ve got a lead to be pissed,” Nolan concluded. “We got this, Simmer.”

Wayne nodded firmly. “You better. Call me if you need anything.”

 

* * *

 

 

Holtby called back exactly thirty minutes later, as promised, and he did not sound at all pleased.

“I don’t know if Carter ever told you about Cam Talbot,” he began, “but I gave him a call, and he agreed with me. We think we know which Q was responsible.”

“Would Neuvy have recognized the coding?” Nolan asked.

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Holtby said. “But there’s more. We got some guy coming into our territory from LA just a few hours ago, and he’s got some useful information.”

“Like what?”

“That wasn’t part of the deal, kid,” Holtby reminded him patiently. “My boss is right here.”

There was a hum that was definitely not Holtby, and then a Russian-accented voice demanding, “Let me speak with your Captain.”

“He won’t be pissed if it’s good info,” Oskar calmly reminded Nolan. “I’m gonna go get him.”

 

* * *

 

 

Claude was _not_ happy.

“I’m going to bench you for a solid _year_ ,” he hissed as he entered the room, Danny at his side.

Nolan cringed. “Can I buy my way out of punishment with this great discovery?”

Claude’s stare was murderous as he hovered over the phone on Carter’s desk. “This is 028.”

“G!” Ovechkin cheered. “No need to be so formal. We hate same people. We practically—how you say? _Friends_.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “What do you have? And at what price?”

“How rude to assume that I’d charge my friend for information,” Ovechkin gasped dramatically.

“You have nothing to gain from this,” Claude said calmly. “You don’t do anything for free.”

“This is true,” Ovechkin agreed with a sigh. “But I let you off hook just this once. Remember that I helped you. I _always_ collect on favors.”

“I’m well aware,” Claude muttered. Louder, he said, “Fine. What do you know?”

“Holts say that coding look like Penguins Q. Murray.”

Claude frowned. “Are you sure it was them? We’ve had some… _issues_ with the Preds.”

“It’s definitely them,” Holtby piped up. “Murray has a recognizable style. Very textbook hacking.”

“Go on,” Claude prompted.

“We also got guy from LA,” Ovechkin said. “Carl Hagelin. You know?”

“He was a Penguin,” Claude said flatly. “I remember him.”

“He went to LA earlier this year,” Ovechkin said. “He came to town this morning looking for place to escape. Had interesting things to say about Penguins.”

“Like what?”

“He was sent to sabotage their operations,” Ovechkin said gravely. “Turns out some Penguins have heart. He could not do. Now he here.”

“He has some base locations,” Holtby added. “He’s willing to give you locations for some of their bases.”

“Great,” Claude said. “Is there anything to narrow those locations down? Neuvy followed that van for miles before he lost track of it.”

“No,” Holtby admitted. “I tried to follow it, too, but they turned off onto one of those dirt roads that don’t have any traffic lights or cameras. You’re just going to have to use that last location and figure it out from there.”

“Okay,” Claude said. “Thank you. What are the addresses?”

“I’m sending it to Neuvy,” Holtby said.

“And we will look into the two closest to DC,” Ovechkin added. “Will let you know if we find anything.”

“Thank you,” Claude said again. “Really. If there is anything else—”

“Will let you know,” Ovechkin promised. “079 is just kid, yes? He with talkative kid, 011?”

“Yeah,” Claude admitted. “They were grabbed together.”

Ovechkin hummed. “We will find, G. Will be in touch.”

The line disconnected, and Claude turned on Oskar and Nolan. “One month.”

Nolan blinked. “Of being benched?”

“One month,” Claude repeated. “And if you don’t go to the medical ward and sleep right now, I will have someone knock you out with enough sedative to last a full day. Do you understand?”

“You got it, Captain,” Nolan said. To save his friends, he’d do anything.

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere in Pittsburgh, Carter was waking up the next morning feeling sore and stiff. Sleeping tied to a chair was likely to do that to a person, though.

He had been awake for what felt like an hour before the door to the tiny room he was being kept in opened and the bare, tiny light bulb suddenly sparked to life. He squinted as his eyes adjusted.

“Good morning,” Malkin said cheerily. “I untie you now.”

“Fantastic,” Carter muttered.

Malkin nodded. “You don’t kick or punch like friend, and I not have to hit you over head again, yes?”

Carter nodded. He was still fairly certain he was suffering from at least a mild concussion if the pain at the base of his skull and the harshness of the light on his eyes was anything to go by, so he wasn’t willing to test his luck fighting.

Malkin cut away the zip ties with a knife that he was careful to reattach to his belt before pulling out an unused zip tie. “Hands,” he said, and waited while Carter placed them behind his back.

Satisfied that Carter was secure, Malkin grabbed him by the shoulder and guided him toward the door.

“Where are we going?” Carter asked as he was led out to a dark hallway.

“You miss friend, yes?”

Carter straightened up, instantly on guard. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was about to be used against Travis in the same way that his friend had been used against him yesterday for information.

“Calm down,” Malkin said, taking note of his distress. “He is fine. For now.”

Unsurprisingly, that did nothing to make Carter feel better.

At the end of the hall, Malkin pulled Carter to a stop in front of another door. When he opened it, the interior was just the same as his own cell had been, but slumped against the wall with his hands tied behind his back was none other than Travis Konecny.

Travis struggled to his feet as soon as the door to his cell was open. “Get your hands off him,” he hissed, his eyes blazing with a fierce fire.

Malkin shoved Carter forward, and he stumbled a few steps before righting himself. With no other words, he slammed the door shut behind him, leaving the two Flyers alone together.

Travis sank against the wall with a sigh, surveying Carter with a concerned frown as he did so. “You okay?”

Carter nodded, sinking to the floor beside his friend. “Could be better,” he admitted. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Fuck my shoulder,” Travis said. “You didn’t tell them anything, did you?”

Carter grimaced. “Well—”

“Hartsy,” Travis sighed, frustrated.

“They don’t exactly like you as it is,” Carter said defensively. “I wasn’t about to give them a reason to mess with you, man.”

Travis sighed again. “Well, they got the information they wanted. What now?”

“I wish I knew,” Carter murmured.

They sat together like that, hunched and alone, for a good hour before the cell door opened again.

Sullivan entered the room first, then Crosby and Malkin. “While this has been a pleasant experience, it’s time for you both to leave,” Sullivan said dryly.

“This earth or this place?” Travis quipped as both he and Carter stood. “Not that I’d be opposed to either as long as I’m not here with _you_.”

A fourth person stepped into the room behind the Penguins, and Carter wondered when his life would stop being one giant cliché.

“Lucky for you, 011,” Director Hextall said, “Both can be arranged.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Am I allowed to help again?” Nolan yelled through the conference room door.

It was nearing nine in the morning, and Claude had yet to let him and Oskar back in the loop as to what was going on. Nolan really hoped his one month of being benched wasn’t effective until _after_ they had his friends back.

The door opened a crack, and Wayne peeked out. “Depends. How much sleep did you get?”

“Five hours, give or take,” Nolan said.

Wayne narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, close to three or four,” Oskar relented. “But let’s be real, how can you expect us to sleep when we’re worried?”

“You can let them in,” Claude called, and Wayne opened the door.

The conference room was one giant mess. There were papers spread across every surface, pinned to the pristine walls, and a bunch of Flyers operatives scattered throughout the room.

“Director Hextall is going to kill us,” Nolan said, taking note of the way the room had been trashed. “This is his favorite room.”

“He can kiss my ass,” Claude said pleasantly.

Danny grimaced. “No one wants that, Claude.”

Nolan rolled his eyes. “Where are we with everything?”

“Ovechkin checked the two warehouses closest to the DC area,” Ivan said, “But found nothing. Looks like they haven’t been used in months.”

“Great,” Nolan said flatly.

“We sent out some teams to do recon,” Claude added. “They haven’t found much. Ghosty and Gudas are on their way back after checking their locations and finding no activity. We’re still waiting on Coots, though.”

“He won’t find anything,” Neuvy muttered, not looking up from his computer as he continued to type and squint at the screen. “The van wasn’t picked up on any traffic cameras in the area of the locations. They didn’t go to one of the places Braden gave us.”

“We don’t know that,” Danny tried to soothe. “We need to cover all our bases.”

“And quickly,” Claude added. “If the Penguins really _do_ have them—”

“Don’t finish that thought, man,” Jake said, patting his back roughly.

Claude nodded stiffly. “You’re right. Let’s get back to work.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m baffled,” Travis huffed. “Confused. Enraged. I’m feeling a lot of _things_.”

“Try not to feel too much now, bud,” Carter snorted.

They were alone again, but that was probably in everyone’s best interest. Travis had been very quick to attempt to attack Director Hextall even with two hands behind his back, but that had not ended well. They had been pulled from the room and shoved into the back of a car anyway, and Travis had blood dripping down his chin from where a fist had split his lip open.

Despite the new injury, Travis was scowling. “This is fucking serious, dude. What the fuck? What is going on?”

Carter really wish he knew. When they’d been thrown into the back of the van, they were alone. There weren’t any windows to see scenery or attempt to alert someone for help, so they really had no clue where they were going. They hadn’t been driving for that long, he was fairly sure. Less than an hour, and already it seemed that they were coming to a stop at their final destination.

The van came to a stop, and moments later the back doors were thrown open. Carter caught sight of a parking garage over the shoulder of the masked thug that was now reaching in to pull them out.

Travis started spewing insults and profanity immediately, lashing out as the man sent to retrieve them reached for his foot to drag him out of the back. Another man appeared beside the initial one, a gun held loosely at his side.

“Shut up or I’ll shoot you,” he snapped.

“I’m a bad bitch,” Travis hissed. “You can’t kill me.”

“Oh my god,” Carter muttered. Was a vine reference really the most appropriate way to respond to a death threat?

“I’ll shoot your friend,” the man returned, flicking off the safety.

Travis’s mouth snapped shut. “Asshole,” he grumbled, but allowed himself to be pulled out of the van.

Carter was yanked out next, and he was quick to survey their surroundings. They were definitely in a parking garage, and it seemed almost familiar.

“Where’s Hextall?” he asked the man gripping his shoulder. He didn’t think Director Hextall really deserved any respect from him with a title now that Carter knew that he was _the_ mole.

The man shoved the gun into his back. “Stop talking,” he said flatly.

Carter didn’t respond, and instead went back to looking around at his surroundings. The signs were the same as they were in any parking garage, but when he looked at the cars—

“G,” he murmured. “TK, _that’s G’s car_.”

They were at the Flyers’ HQ.

The gun in his back dug further, almost painfully. “Funny,” he hissed. “I was told you were the more cooperative one.”

Director Hextall rounded a corner, his car keys in hand. He clicked a button, and Carter could hear the muffled beep of a car horn as it was locked. “Take the service elevator to the basement,” he said, not looking at Carter or Travis. “There aren’t any cameras in this garage or the service elevator. I need to check in upstairs, but I will be down after that. Keep an eye on them.”

“I knew there was a reason I hated you,” Travis muttered.

Director Hextall rolled his eyes as he pocketed his keys. “We only need one of them. If he continues to be a pain in the ass, feel free to _shoot him_.”

 

* * *

 

 

“What the hell is all this?”

Nolan’s head snapped up at the angry voice, and everyone else stopped working as well to stare at Director Hextall in the doorway to the conference room.

“An investigation, sir,” Claude said after a moment. “Carter and TK were abducted.”

Director Hextall’s mouth formed a thin line. “So I’ve heard.”

Claude looked taken aback. “You _know_?”

“I know everything,” Director Hextall snorted. “I’ve been told that they’re in the Preds’ custody.”

Neuvy frowned. “How would you—”

“I suggest you focus on finding them,” Director Hextall interrupted. “Since 079 let them get away, they’re still running around in Philly somewhere. If this is some kind of revenge operation for blowing up the warehouse they were canvasing, you’d better find them quickly.”

Neuvy opened his mouth to protest again, but Claude cut him off with a quick, “Yes, sir.”

Director Hextall nodded approvingly before turning and leaving. All eyes turned to Claude.

“What the fuck?” Jake demanded.

“He’s lying,” Neuvy murmured. “We have clear evidence that—”

“ _I know,_ ” Claude interrupted. “I know. That was sketchy as hell.”

Wayne stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and then left the room without another word.

Danny watched him go, his eyes dark. “I don’t like this,” he said quietly.

Claude didn’t seem to like the situation much, either. “Neuvy, retrace his steps,” he ordered. “From the moment he got here to as far back as you can go.” Neuvy nodded and got to work. He turned next to Nolan. “Patty, Danny, you’re with me.”

Nolan stood. “Where are we going?” he asked, following Claude and Danny out of the room.

“Carter’s desk,” Claude said. “I think we might have missed something.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I’ll pay you _twice_ what’s paying you if you just let us go.”

“You don’t have enough money for that, kid.”

Travis scowled. They had been in the small utility closet for what felt like hours, but really couldn’t have been that long at all. Maybe it just felt cramped because Carter was a tall guy and they were seated amongst a ton of cleaning supplies and tools while the thugs responsible for keeping an eye on them leaned back against the door and took up more than half the space.

He was cuffed to a chair beside Carter because he couldn’t be trusted not to attack their captors, apparently, and while cuffs were cold and inconvenient, they were still a whole lot better than zip ties. He was half tempted to break his thumb and slide out of them, but one warning look from Carter told him that his friend had already predicted as much and disapproved immensely.

“Director Hextall can’t possibly have that much money,” Carter said. Travis would have beamed at his genius bud if they weren’t in such a predicament. “Who is paying you?”

“None of your business,” the one that Travis had dubbed Rock for his very broad and solid stature. The other one was aptly named Tree for his height.

Travis liked to think he was creative.

It was then that there was a knock on the door, and Tree and Rock were very quick to shuffle around out of the way and let Director Hextall in.

“This is horrid,” he said, frowning at how little space he had to move. Served him right, Travis thought viciously. “You two can wait outside. This won’t take long.”

Tree and Rock filed out, and while that definitely made the spacing issue better, it didn’t help Travis’s desire to commit murder.

As if sensing this, Carter shot him a warning look. Smart fucker.

“You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble for me,” Director Hextall began, his eyes focused on Carter. “You and 019, but mostly you. Asking questions isn’t good, Mr. Hart.”

“I still have a lot of them,” Carter said. “Like what are you gaining from this?”

Director Hextall snorted. “That’s a loaded question, kid.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ve been trying to burn this ops team to the ground for years. _Years_. You’re their seventh Quartermaster in one year and they still refuse to disband.”

Travis snorted. “If you hate us so much why didn’t you just step down?”

“I have a job to do,” Director Hextall snapped. “Do you really think I’d have the resources to accomplish all of this on my own?”

Carter sat up straighter. “Who are you doing this for, then?”

“This isn’t a movie, Mr. Hart,” Director Hextall said flatly. “I’m not going to monologue to you like a James Bond villain. It won’t matter to you in a few hours, anyway, because you won’t be alive to care.”

Travis’s blood ran cold at the words. “They’ll figure it out,” he spat. “The Flyers.”

“Oh, they’ll try,” Director Hextall agreed. “019 returning was a factor I hadn’t planned for. Those stupid Penguins were meant to get all three of you out of my hair, but I guess you can’t trust _imbeciles_.”

“You would know, being one yourself,” Travis agreed.

Director Hextall smiled blandly. “Do you remember when I said I only need one of you, 011?” he asked cheerfully. “I think you’ve outlived your usefulness.” He opened the door and stepped out. “Boys, take care of 011.”

Tree and Rock both filed back in, the former with a gun in his hand. “Don’t make this difficult for us, kid.”

Carter struggled in his seat, straining against the cuffs. There was blood beginning to form around his raw wrists from his jerky movements. “You don’t have to do this,” he said desperately.

“Actually,” Director Hextall said from outside the closet, “I do. This will show both you and the rest of the Flyers just how serious this situation is.”

Rock grabbed onto Travis’s bad shoulder, and he hissed as a bolt of pain raced through his arm while his cuffs were undone.

“I know you’re serious,” Carter tried again. “What do you want? Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Hartsy,” Travis snapped. Tree smacked him harshly across the face before pulling him to his feet with a firm order to be quiet. Travis could feel blood start to eb slowly from his mouth, probably because the asshole had reopened the cut in his lip.

“Oh, Mr. Hart,” Director Hextall sighed. “Surely there is more than one Flyer you care about. We wouldn’t want them to get hurt now, would we? You’ll do what I want anyway.”

Rock and Tree each had one of Travis’s arms at this point, and they were none too gentle about the injured one. Director Hextall shook his head at them. “Put him back in the chair, gentlemen.”

Travis was practically thrown back onto the chair and then roughly cuffed again. He didn’t struggle as much, his body too sore and too tired to do much more than wiggle annoyingly.

Tree and Rock stepped back, and Director Hextall snapped his fingers at them impatiently. “Maybe we should rough him up just a bit,” he said. “Make sure that Mr. Hart _really_ understands the gravity of this situation.”

“Trust me _I understand_ ,” Carter said desperately. “Just leave him—”

Director Hextall slapped Carter quickly across the face, his head snapping violently to the side. It wasn’t the hardest he had ever been hit, but he already had a concussion, so it sent him reeling. It didn’t help that the slap had left his cheek stinging with what felt like a thousand little needle pricks.

Travis snarled and opened his mouth to say something vicious, but Director Hextall cut him off. “I’d think twice before opening your mouth, 011,” he hissed. “I’m serious about cutting my losses with you. If you do or say anything else even mildly annoying, I won’t hesitate to have you killed, and it won’t be pretty for 079, either.”

Travis held himself at bay, but still glowered at Director Hextall like he was the lowest of all life forms.

Satisfied, Director Hextall turned to leave. “I’ll be taking my leave now. I have a feeling your stupid Captain will be getting in the way shortly, and we can’t have that now, can we?”

 

* * *

 

 

“You know,” Holtby said calmly, “I’m gonna start charging a consultation fee.”

“Whatever you want,” Claude promised. He leaned forward in Carter’s chair, flanked by Nolan and Danny. “We’re getting desperate and cornered here.”

The frown in Holtby’s voice was obvious as he asked hesitantly, “Cornered?”

“It’s a long story,” Claude said, “but I need a way to contact the Preds.”

“I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told Carter,” Holtby said firmly. “No. They’re a dangerous bunch.”

“They’re being framed for his and TK’s disappearance,” Danny said. “We need to know why.”

“Listen,” Holtby said quietly, “They’re not the kind of people you want to track down. We all know it wasn’t them, so will it _really_ help to reach out to them?”

“Yes,” Claude said. “They’ll never know it was you. I just need to talk to them, ASAP.”

Holtby hesitated for a moment. “It’s not me I’m worried about,” he murmured. “But I’ll give you the number.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You must be truly desperate to come to me for help.”

Nolan snorted. “That’s _exactly_ the kind of thing a villain would say in a movie,” he muttered, wincing only a little when Danny smacked him on the back of the head.

Claude sighed. “You received a hit for our Q. Who was it from?”

Pekka Rinne was a decent guy, from what Claude knew of him. Their run-ins had always been brief and unpleasant, mainly because the Flyers and the Preds did not get along, but Rine was at least the kind of guy that sounded genuinely apologetic as he sent his guys to shoot you in the head. That was something, at least.

“I can’t help you,” Pekka said. “You know I can’t tell you that, 028.”

“There was a hit put out a hit on our Quartermaster a few weeks ago, and now he’s missing. Your team isn’t responsible for his disappearance.”

“Correct.”

“Then who the fuck was it?”

Pekka snorted. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

“The Penguins.”

“Two for two, 028,” Pekka hummed.

“Hm.” Claude pursed his lips. “The hit you put on him. Was it a kill hit?”

“Claude,” Danny hissed, “You know he won’t—”

“No,” Pekka interrupted. “It wasn’t. We were never ordered to kill Carter Hart.”

Claude nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Pekka paused. “Okay?” he repeated. “That’s all you wanted?”

“Well, I mean, that’s all I’m going to get from you,” Claude said. “I know that your group was responsible for the things that happened to our other Quartermasters, too.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Pekka snorted. He didn’t outright deny the accusation, though.

“They were all hits,” Claude said. “Too calculated and planned out. That’s why they were all left alive, except the one. Because one of your guys fucked up. A rookie, I’m guessing?”

Pekka said nothing, so Claude continued.

“None of them were meant to die. They were just meant to quit, or be too traumatized or injured to continue,” he said. “Why else would our Q’s keep dropping like flies? _Someone wanted them to_.”

Pekka let out a quiet laugh. “It’s about time you figured that out,” he said. “I was beginning to think that maybe you’re just stupid.”

“Maybe,” Claude agreed, “But not _that_ stupid. Let me speak to your Captain.”

“Can’t do that,” Pekka said. “He’s going to say the same things that I have. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

“But you are,” Danny observed. “Why is that?”

Pekka hesitated. Claude didn’t think he had ever heard the Quartermaster hesitate so much before.

“We have a Quartermaster in training,” he said after a moment. “He’s just a kid like your Quartermaster. If he were in Carter’s shoes…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “I don’t like when people mess with kids, 028. My team knows that. That’s why they’ve been dragging their feet on this hit, and that’s why the one who hired us also hired the Penguins. We were taking too long for their liking.”

“But you won’t tell us who it was,” Claude finished.

“I can’t,” Pekka said. “You know I can’t. I’m truly sorry, and I hope that something I’ve said will prove useful. Goodbye, 028.”

With that, the line disconnected.

Danny frowned. “I think I’ve figured it out,” he said.

“Me too,” Claude offered. “And I don’t like it.”

“Well I’m stupid as shit,” Nolan piped up. “Please explain.”

Claude shook his head. “No. It’s better that you not know. If we’re wrong, you won’t be held responsible.”

“For what?” Nolan demanded. “G, what are you going to do?”

Claude took a deep breath and let it out. “Something really fucking stupid.”

 

* * *

 

 

When they returned to the conference room, Neuvy looked like he was going to throw up. “I have footage,” he said quietly. “It’s—it’s not good, Claude.”

“Show me,” Claude ordered, so Neuvy did.

“I’m going to kill him,” Nolan said, his eyes transfixed on the screen over Claude’s shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” Jake murmured. “Why? What does he have to gain?”

“I really wish I knew,” Claude said, rubbing his eyes roughly. He looked up at his team. “I need you all to go home.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Raff snorted. “Ha, funny,” he said flatly, implying that he thought the exact opposite.

“I’m serious,” Claude repeated. “It’s an order. Go home.”

“No,” Coots said. “I’m not going anywhere.” There was a chorus of voices rising up in agreement.

“We could all get fired for this,” Claude warned. “Executed, even. They won’t hesitate to take us all out.”

“People who would abandon their team deserve that anyway,” Shayne said firmly. “You heard it, G. None of us are leaving.”

“Well, except Simmer,” Ivan said. “He still hasn’t come back.”

“He’s not answering his phone, either,” Oskar piped up.

As if summoned by the mere mention of his name, Claude’s phone buzzed in his pocket. _Be ready in twenty_ , said the text from Simmer’s number. _My gun is in my desk drawer._

Claude stood abruptly. “You know what, he’ll show up when he’s most needed. He always does. Until then, everyone suit up and be ready in ten. I need to speak with someone.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You may enter.”

Claude stared at the closed door to the office. It was a dark wood, just like every other door to the private offices on the upper floors, but this one was different. Behind that particular door was the office of the man responsible for recent events, and likely past events if what Pekka had told him were the truth.

He took a deep breath and steeled his nerves before turning the handle and opening the door.

Director Hextall looked up from whatever he’d been doing on the computer, looking just as unimpressed as usual. “What can I help you with, 028?”

“I want to know where you got your intel about the Preds,” Claude said. “Neuvy didn’t have any evidence that the Preds have Carter and TK, but you do.”

Director Hextall sighed but seemed completely unbothered by the slight accusatory tone Claude was using as he went back to messing with something on his computer.

“Where I get my intel is none of your business, 028,” he said flatly. “I speak with other Directors and outside personnel all the time. Information comes and goes like you wouldn’t believe in this business.”

Claude let the door to the office close loudly behind him, but Director Hextall didn’t even look up at the loud bang. “That’s funny, considering Neuvy has you on video coming into the parking garage ahead of a large van,” he said. “We checked sign in logs for the parking garage. You used your code to get in, but then it was used a second time to let the van behind you in as well.”

Director Hextall finally looked up, his gaze cool. “What are you insinuating?”

“You know what I’m insinuating,” Claude said, voice low. “There aren’t any cameras in the parking garage, but the one just outside that monitors people coming and going had you clocked as coming in at 11:07 AM. You didn’t get into the elevator to come upstairs until 11:29, and then you went back down to the parking garage for another twenty minutes before returning.”

The Director folded his hands loosely on his desk. “Is there a reason you found spying on me to be a good use of your time, 028?”

“Is there a reason you decided to abduct two of our operatives?” Claude shot back.

“In case you forgot, 079 is no longer a Flyer,” Director Hextall pointed out.

“But Travis is,” Claude retorted. “And you didn’t deny the allegation.”

“I didn’t abduct anyone, 028.”

“No,” Claude agreed. “You didn’t, but you hired someone else to do it. Specifically, you hired the Penguins.”

Director Hextall laughed. “Well done. I have to say, I didn’t think you’d figure it out this quickly.”

“We’re not fucking stupid, Director.”

“Yes, you are,” he chuckled. “It took you seven Q’s coming up injured or dead to figure it out. _Seven_. And the only reason you noticed 079 at all is because 011 and 019 were with him. If he’d gone missing on his own, you and the rest of your team would have just assumed he’d gone back to the Phantoms like he was supposed to.”

“Where are they?” Claude demanded. “I know they were in that van. Where are they now?”

Director Hextall lifted his folded hands and his chin against them. “Why have you been contacting the Preds, 028?” he asked pleasantly. “I’m sure Commissioner Bettman would be very disappointed to hear that you’ve been colluding with the enemy. He’ll be even more disappointed to know that 048 and 019 helped you. Oh, and the Caps? You sold our secrets to a mob?” He _tsked_ and shook his head. “How disappointing. It appears to me that the Flyers are corrupt and need to be disbanded and eliminated immediately.”

Claude ground his teeth together, and Director Hextall actually laughed at the look on his face. “Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “In case you forgot, _I was a Quartermaster too_.”

“Disband us, I really don’t give a shit,” Claude hissed. “ _Where are they_?”

Director Hextall ignored him in favor of opening his desk drawer and pulling out a gun.

Claude had his out of his holster and aimed just a moment later, his heart pounding in his chest. Director Hextall laughed in his face.

“What a shame Claude Giroux went rogue,” he said. “He went mad with grief over the death of two of his young agents. I just had to take him out. The world will understand, won’t they?”

“Fat chance,” Claude snapped. “You might have been a Q, but that doesn’t mean you’d be fast enough or even accurate enough to shoot me right now.”

“Oh, I don’t have to be,” Director Hextall said. He turned the gun slowly on his desk in a circle like a kid playing with a toy. “You’ll _let_ me shoot you.”

Claude barked out a laugh of disbelief. “Yeah, right,” he said.

Director Hextall quirked an eyebrow. “You want 011 and 079 to live, don’t you?” he asked pleasantly. “If I don’t call my dear friends that are with them and let them know that you’re dead in, say, the next five minutes, I’ll call instead and have them kill your agents.”

Claude clicked off the safety. “You can’t call them if you’re dead.”

“Wow, so smart!” Director Hextall gasped. “I never would have thought of that!” Claude ground his teeth together at the mocking tone, and the Director laughed. “ _Please_. Do us all a favor and let me shoot you, Claude. I’ll even let you take a shot at me. Somewhere nonlethal, perhaps, or else who knows what will happen to your poor kids.”

Claude didn’t lower his weapon. “No one will believe that I didn’t shoot you somewhere lethal,” he said. “I’m trained to aim for the head. If I hit you elsewhere, people will know.”

“Trust me, 028,” Director Hextall said, “no one will look that closely unless I want them to. Aim for the shoulder, maybe.” He grinned wide. “Do it quickly now. If I don’t check in soon, Carter and Travis won’t be having a great day.”

Claude’s eyes slid to the clock on the wall. “Fine,” he said, and shot.

Director Hextall let out a small shout as the bullet tore through his shoulder and through the glass window behind him, leaving a small hole and cracked glass in its wake. It hadn’t been enough force to shatter it completely, but the bullet was definitely long gone out the window.

With his remaining arm, Director Hextall picked up his gun and aimed it.

“Goodbye, Mr. Giroux,” he said.

A loud bang rang out, and the lights in the Flyers’ HQ went dark.

 

* * *

 

 

“What the fuck?” Rock demanded in the darkness of the supply closet.

It was pitch black, and Travis saw his chance. He broke his thumb with only a muffled curse and slid his left hand out of the cuff. He quickly stood, his other hand still attached to the arm of the chair, and waited.

Tree fumbled for his cell phone and turned on the light, and that’s when Travis attacked.

He struck out and up with the palm of his hand, hitting Tree right in the face. He felt the cartilage give way under his hit, and Tree froze for a moment before crumpling to the ground.

Rock made a desperate lunge for him in the dark as Tree’s phone disappeared beneath his fallen body, but Travis was ready for that, too. He aimed a quick jab to the man’s solar plexus, and Rock let out a huge gasp of air and bent forward. It was then easy for Travis to slam his elbow down on the man’s head, knocking him out cold.

“TK?” Carter whispered, barely able to believe what he had just seen.

Travis kneeled down to start going through Tree’s pockets, where he had seen the man tuck the keys to their cuffs away. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“No, actually,” Travis replied dryly, “but escaping is a little more important than my hand hurting like a motherfucker, y’know?”

He finally found the key, turning around to unlock his cuffs. He then got to work on Carter, and soon enough they were both free.

Carter rubbed at his wrists, and Travis could see his frown even in the dim closet. “We need to set your hand,” he said.

Travis was kneeling again, grabbing the guns from both Tree and Rock. “We need to get upstairs, actually,” he said. “Who knows what Director Hextall is doing up there?” He shoved one of the guns into Carter’s hands.

Carter fumbled with it, trying to adjust his grip in the dark. “Are we just going to leave them here?”

“Yeah, I don’t see why not,” Travis said with a shrug. “Tree is dead. I shoved the cartilage of his nose into his brain.”

“Tree?” Carter repeated.

“The tall jackass,” Travis explained. “The other fucker is Rock. I figured nature names was a lot nicer and less likely to get me shot if I accidentally called them that out loud?”

“Accidentally?” Carter quipped, and he was smiling just a little now.

“Shut the fuck up,” Travis responded, but he was grinning right back. “Now come on, lets go kick some ass.”

 

* * *

 

 

Director Hextall was screaming in pain, nearly every bone in his hand shattered or broken. “What the fuck?” he demanded. The gun he had held lay useless on the floor.

The generator finally kicked in, allowing the emergency lights to come on and bathe the room in a pale glow.

“I shot you,” Claude informed him. “In your shooting hand. That’s gotta hurt like a bitch.”

Director Hextall sneered. “Didn’t shoot my other hand, though,” he said, reaching for his phone.

Claude held up his gun again. “I can, if you want,” he offered cheerfully. “But I doubt the phone lines will work. They probably cut those already.”

“ _They_?”

The door to the office burst open, and Wayne Simmonds peaked in with a frown. “Man, I thought I told you to be _ready_ in twenty, not be _done_ in twenty!”

“What? I am ready,” Claude snorted. “I had to make sure this shithead didn’t do something stupid.”

Director Hextall blinked. “What the fuck?” he said for the second time.

Wayne snorted. “Surprise, motherfucker. _No one_ messes with the Flyers and gets away with it.”

“You think there won’t be repercussions for this?” Director Hextall demanded. “My bosses will come after you. They’ll kill you, 028.”

“No they won’t,” Wayne replied. “Claude is using my gun, and I intend to take it with me. Oh, surprise, by the way! I quit. I’m a Pred now.”

“What?” Director Hextall demanded.

“I’ve known about your plan for _weeks_ ,” Wayne said. “I got a call from PK Subban a few weeks ago to let me know you were up to something fishy and that I should get the fuck out. I told him I would as long as I could make sure that my team would be okay.”

“ _What?_ ” Director Hextall repeated, sounding enraged.

“They betrayed you, man,” Wayne said. “They did every hit you asked for but trying to get a kid was a little too far, even for a bunch hitmen. Who knew the Preds had a heart?”

Director Hextall sneered. “That doesn’t change anything,” he hissed. “I’m just one person. There’s an entire _group_ that wants the Flyers gone.”

“And we’ll face them when the time comes,” Claude said flatly. “Not that you’ll be there to see it.”

“Have you forgotten about 011 and 079?” Director Hextall tried. Now he sounded flat-out _desperate_. “If something starts to go wrong, my men will _kill_ them.”

“Wrong.”

Claude turned toward the open office door, relief filling every part of his being.

Carter and Travis stood in the doorway, both a little worse for wear, but very much alive.

“I might have killed Tree,” Travis said unapologetically. “Oops.”

Wayne cackled. “That’s the spirit, kid.”

Claude turned back to Director Hextall. There was still unfinished business to attend to, after all. “Who are you working for?” he demanded. “This group of people trying to take us out. Who’s in it?”

Director Hextall slumped. “Just shoot me,” he said flatly. “I’m not going to tell you, and it’s a waste of time for you to stand there. Just know that they’ll be coming for you, Claude Giroux, and when they do, they’ll burn everything around you.”

“I’ll be ready,” Claude promised, and took the shot.

 

* * *

 

 

“You know, this was a really fucked up last day, but damn if it wasn’t satisfying as hell,” Wayne said, accepting his gun from Claude.

They stood in the hallway, still barely lit by the emergency lights. Claude grabbed his longtime friend in a fierce hug.

“I’m going to miss you, bud,” he said. “I love you, Simmer, no matter what happens.”

Wayne gripped him back just as tight. “I love you too, man,” he said, voice muffled in Claude’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

They patted each other’s backs and pulled away. “I’ll do my best,” Claude said, snorting. “There’s an entire league against me, you know.”

“I know,” Wayne said. “But they’ll waste time trying to come after me for killing Hextall. Whatever cameras or bugs were in that office will have been useless with the jammer.” He held up a device that was probably about the size of an iPhone and then slid it back into his pocket. “And everyone will assume it was me because it was my gun the shots were fired from.”

“And cameras in the hall won’t have picked up anything anyway because the power was out,” Claude agreed. “Genius.”

“That’s Pekka, alright,” Wayne laughed. “That guy’s the real deal. It’s crazy to think that Hartsy could be that one day, eh?”

Claude nodded. Carter and Travis had long since been whisked away by Oskar, Nolan, and Ivan to the medical ward, all three tutting anxiously over their injured friends.

Jake and the Preds’ Captain came jogging up to them from the elevator, looking battered and bruised, but very excited about it.

“We’ve damaged the lower levels and as much of this floor as we could,” Jake said. “You think they’ll buy the attack?”

“They’ll have to,” Claude said with a shrug. “There wasn’t any footage to speak against it. They’ll have to take out word for it. Make sure everyone knows that it was Simmer that shot Director Hextall and defected.”

Jake nodded. “You got it, G,” he said. He paused and leaped at Wayne, pulling him into a quick hug before darting away.

Wayne laughed. “My first kill as a Pred will be Director Hextall,” he said. “It’s the easiest kill I’ll ever get.”

“Yeah, you had some nice assisting,” Claude quipped.

Wayne grinned. “I always do.”

The Captain of the Preds, Roman Josi, clapped Wayne on the shoulder. “We’re pulling out before the Commissioner sends people sniffing about,” he said. “035 wanted me to wish you luck before we do.”

“Tell him thanks,” Claude said. “I really appreciate what you guys did. I know it puts a target on you all.”

Roman snorted. “ _Please_ , there’s always a target on us,” he said. “Whether it’s assassinating a dictator or killing the Director of the Flyers, it will always be something.”

“I know,” Claude said, and they shook hands firmly. “Good luck.”

“You too, 028,” Roman said, and now he sounded much more grim. “Be careful out there.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We love a party,” Travis cheered.

“Is he high?” Ivan stage-whispered to Oskar.

“Ridiculously,” Oskar confirmed.

Carter rolled his eyes at his friends, and then looked over the entire medical ward where nearly every single person was sitting on some available surface with visible wounds. Bloody noses, black eyes—you name it, and someone was sitting around with it.

“It’s to save face,” Danny had explained as Oskar stitched a particularly nasty cut right above his eyebrow. “When the Commissioner comes asking questions about what happened, we’ll have to look like we put up a fight.”

“And did you?”

Danny grinned. “Yeah, sparring a bunch of hitmen is fun.”

Carter patted Travis on his good shoulder. “How ya feeling, bud?”

“Great,” he drawled, swaying just a little.

Nolan rolled his eyes. “At least he had the sense to make it a clean break, and on the same side as his shoulder injury. I had totally pegged him for the kind of dumbass that would break his dominant hand.”

“And I peg you as the kind of dumbass that should shut the fuck up,” Travis slurred, and then cackled. “Heh, peg.”

“Oh my god,” Ivan mumbled, hiding his face in his hands. “I thought I missed you, but I was wrong. I regret ever befriending you.”

“No you don’t,” Travis sang. “You looooooove me.”

“No I don’t,” Ivan replied, but cast a pointed look at Nolan.

Carter quirked a brow at the dark flush that spread over Nolan’s cheeks. Nolan was naturally a rosy guy, but he was never _that_ red. He already had the sneaking suspicion something was up between Nolan and Travis, but if even Ivan had kind of called one of them out on it, then it must has been painfully obvious.

Either Travis was stupid or too high to notice because he cackled again and slumped back against his pillows. Carter was willing to bet it was a little bit of both.

It was then that Claude came into the medical ward, his eyes searching the room before landing on Carter and Travis. He crossed the room to stand between their two beds.

“Are you guys okay?”

“The best,” Travis slurred.

“He’s high,” Oskar offered helpfully.

“We’re fine,” Carter said with a laugh. “Mild concussion for me and some bruising, but nothing too bad. Travis got the worst of it because he doesn’t know when to stop talking.”

Claude snorted, but he seemed unhappy with that bit of information. “Was it mostly the Pens?” he asked.

“It was a bit of the Pens and a bit of his own doing, actually,” Carter said. “When the lights went out, he dislocated his thumb and then used the same hand to take down the two guys that were guarding us for Hextall.”

“I had to drug him to reset the break,” Oskar added. “He’ll be fine soon, though. It was clean.”

“Good,” Claude said, and he sounded genuinely relieved. “I’m glad you two are okay.”

“He was worried,” Danny offered, sliding up to his side with a mischievous smile.

“You were too, old man, don’t even try it.”

Carter snickered. “Yeah, yeah, we get it.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you at home, Hartsy,” he said. “I have to go take care of some business for when the Commissioner gets here.”

Carter frowned. “Home? Am I no longer going back to the Phantoms?”

“Something tells me the order never went through,” Neuvy called cheerfully from across the room. “Must have been a bad connection to the server, y’know?”

Carter felt his heart practically beat out of his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Claude said, reaching out to ruffle his hair like he was much younger than his twenty years. “See you at home.”

“See you at home,” Carter said, feeling light as Claude left with Danny on his heels.

 

* * *

 

 

The Commissioner, unsurprisingly, was very suspicious.

“So, for the record, you’re telling me that 079, 011, and 019 were heading out of town on a camping trip?”

“That’s correct,” Claude confirmed.

“And when they stopped to get gas, they ran into the Preds?”

“Yeah. We had a run-in with them during a mission a few hours prior to Carter and TK being abducted. We assumed it was in retaliation for ruining their assignment or something.”

“I see. And 019 went unscathed?”

“He said he was in the gas station using the bathroom. When he came back, he saw they were gone, and then he came back here.”

“And from there you reported 011 and 079 missing?”

“That’s protocol, sir,” Claude agreed with a nod.

Commissioner Bettman hummed. “Indeed it is. What happened from there?”

“We got a ransom call from the Preds,” Claude said. “Or, Director Hextall did, anyway.”

“And he wouldn’t fulfil the ransom.”

“That’s protocol,” Claude repeated.

“So they invaded your headquarters, miraculously returning 011 and 079 unscathed, and killed Director Hextall.” Commissioner Bettman frowned down at the notes he had taken from the two times he had already heard Claude’s story. “You realize how ridiculous this sounds, don’t you?”

“It was Wayne,” Claude said, and had to pretend to be angry at his friend for the entire incident. “He’s always had a soft spot for Carter and TK, so I’m fairly certain he had them returned for that reason only. We had no reason to suspect he was a mole, sir.”

“No one did, 028,” the Commissioner sighed. “I’ll need access to all missions and reports that 017 was involved with, just to make sure there are no discrepancies.”

“Absolutely,” Claude said. “I’ll have 079 send them to you when he returned for duty.”

The Commissioner smiled. Claude really hated his creepy smile. “How is he, anyway?”

“Mildly concussed,” Claude said. “011 got the worst of it, so he’ll be out for a few weeks of healing and PT. 079 should be back within a couple of days.”

“I see,” the Commissioner hummed. “Well, I’ll be out of your hair. My investigators will be collecting evidence for a while, and your team had been through quite an ordeal. Why don’t you take the rest of today and tomorrow off.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, you all certainly deserve it,” the Commissioner said, shutting his little notebook. Claude briefly wondered how many secrets were contained within the yellowing pages. “I’ll let you know when it is acceptable to return, as well as who your interim Director will be until we can find one for a permanent position. Have a good evening, Claude.”

“You too, Commissioner.”

 

* * *

 

 

“That was very stupid, you know.”

Claude groaned and tried to refrain from banging his face against the steering wheel. “I _know_ , Danny, but what else could I do? Tell the truth and let them know that we’re on to them?”

Danny frowned over at him, squinting through the early afternoon sun as it filtered into the car. “They probably already know.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Claude sighed. “We have no way of knowing.”

“I’m worried about you, Claude,” Danny confessed. “What Director Hextall said to you—”

“I’ll be fine,” Claude interrupted. “I’m more concerned with the knock to the head you took that was so bad that Oskar insisted I drive you home instead of letting you drive yourself.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “He’s a good kid, he’s just worried about all of us,” he said fondly. “He had a lot of injuries to deal with today.”

“I know,” Claude said, turning onto Danny’s street. “We’ll be fine, Danny. We’re a tough team.”

Danny continued to frown. “Be that as it may, Hextall made it sound like there were some pretty powerful people gunning for us. There’s no way he made all this happen on his own. He had to have the resources to hire the Pens _and_ the Preds. Our enemies and some notorious hitmen. They don’t just accept pocket change, Claude.”

“Honestly, I feel like the Penguins would pay _Hextall_ for a chance to mess with us.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not laughing,” Claude retorted, pulling into Danny’s driveway. It was the same house he had started out in for the Flyers when Danny had taken him under his wing along with his three kids and their fat dog. It was a house that never failed to make Claude’s heart ache at all the memories he had, and all the things he couldn’t have.

Danny sighed as he unbuckled his seatbelt, unaware of Claude having an internal meltdown in the driver’s seat. “Be careful,” he said, reaching out and squeezing Claude’s hand briefly before withdrawing. “We’ve gone and made some power enemies, and who knows what will happen next?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Claude said. “See ya, Danny.”

“Bye,” Danny said, shutting the car door behind him. Claude waited until he had made it to his front door and into the house before backing out of the driveway and driving away.

Claude knew there were things he would never have, but there were so many things he _already_ had. He had a great team full of amazing people that he considered friends, he had Danny back in his life, and he had hope for the future of his team in the younger members like Nolan and Travis and Oskar and Carter.

They were the future of the Flyers; now all Claude had to do was make sure they’d _have_ a team to have a future on. It would be no easy task, but he was determined to make anyone that even thought about coming after his team to know just how bad of an idea that really was.

Director Hextall had threatened to burn everything that Claude touched, but what he didn’t know was that Claude was ready to start a fire just as vicious and violent in retaliation.

The Flyers were scrappy, and they would _not_ go down without a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: physical violence, blood, broken bones, gun violence, minor character death
> 
> thanks for reading, and i'll see yall next time!


End file.
